Scars

1.

The day was hot, but not any hotter than the day before. Mitsuru lay sprawled out on his bed, wearing an indecent lack of clothes, almost half-asleep, wondering how long it would be before Shinobu gave him something to do.

Shinobu, as was his wont, sat at his desk, clothed for some bizarre reason in a light long-sleeved shirt. Mitsuru could have sworn he was insane. If he could have stripped to fewer than the clothes he was wearing without being arrested for going out in public like that he would have.

"Aren't you hot?" Mitsuru finally asked, breaking the wall of silence heat had erected between them. The less movement, the cooler it was. Or so he reasoned.

"No," Shinobu replied, not looking up. "Are you?"

Mitsuru did not deign to reply. The sweat-drenched sheets beneath him should have been answer enough.

He did, however, let himself roll out of the bed, remembering that hear rises, and landed lightly on his feet. "How can you be wearing a long-sleeved shirt?" he complained, eyeing his slender roommate.

"Because I'm comfortable this way," he replied, still not turning.

Mitsuru sighed and flopped onto Shinobu's bed, considering a trip to the baths. "I'm bored and it's only the first day of summer vacation."

Shinobu grinned slightly and glanced at him. "Homework?"

Mitsuru moaned and rolled over.

"Mitsuru-sempai, do you have any aces?"

"Go fish. Shinobu, your king please."

Shinobu eyed him darkly and then handed over the requested card. Mitsuru smirked and put his match down on the floor. "Hasukawa, any sevens?"

The younger boy shook his head, clutching his cards protectively against his chest. His sempai were not known for their sterling law-abiding ways. Today had dawned bright and clear, the sun burning away any haze that had formed in the sky. It was hotter today than the day before and even Shinobu had opted for a T-shirt.

Shinobu's turn was next. "Shun, your eight please."

Shun sighed and handed it over.

Shinobu smiled slightly as he set the cards down. Mitsuru took this as an opportunity and leaned closer.

His eyes sketched over the cards, and then lowered, running lightly along Shinobu's forearm. His brows lowered. "Shinobu-"

Shinobu knew. "Don't cheat, Mitsuru." His voice held more of a warning than just cards merited.

Mitsuru's eyes jerked to those of his best friend's, whose now had a hard look about them. "Sorry. I... must have mistaken you for Hasukawa."

Kazuya, who had missed the silent exchange, glared at them. Shun, however, was quicker. "Ne, Mitsuru-sempai, Shinobu-sempai, thanks for having us over." He stood, putting his cards down in a little pile. "We need to get going. Suka-chan promised me to go shopping for snacks." He gave them a quick grin and hauled Kazuya, who looked rather puzzled, up onto his feet. "Bye!" He yanked his roommate out the door before the redhead could utter a word. Sudden, but effective.

Shinobu sighed as the door slammed shut. He protectively folded his arms against his chest. He had known it would have to come out sometime.

But he had been so happy.

Mitsuru started shuffling the cards, piling them on top of each other and cutting them randomly, nervous for some reason, but after a moment, set them down. His eyes came to rest on the still form of his best friend, who was watching him, the same hard look in his eyes.

It was that look that spurred him. He reached out and seized Shinobu's forearm. "Shinobu, what are these?"

The forest-eyed boy calmly removed his arm from Mitsuru's grasp. "Scars from the past, Mitsuru. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter!" Mitsuru noted he was getting shrill, and noted to himself to tone it down. "Shinobu, I-"

The look in Shinobu's eyes silenced him. How surprising that he could simply cut off his speech, his thoughts, without even saying a word.

But Mitsuru knew what those scars were. They couldn't be anything else.

Silent, he stood and turned away, his steps leading him out the door, shutting it gently behind him, just as Shinobu had closed himself to the world.

The library was an available refuge. The stairs were steep and designed so that no one could climb them without pain, but the fourth floor was his goal. Mitsuru seated himself heavily at one of the desks and vaguely wondered why every piece of school furniture had to be so uncomfortably hard.

The flickering fluorescent fixtures above him bled faint light into the room. The fourth floor was the highest in the library, built into a set of four main rooms, each more of a study corner than someplace to house books. Mitsuru sighed, raising his eyes to the small window. The sky was preposterously blue. And he could have sworn that it was even hotter here than in the dorms. He wiped his brow with his shirt.

Shinobu’s eyes had been so cold. He didn’t really know why he had fled from that, but he needed to distance himself. He had seen that same cold, hard look before in his roommate, and knew not touch whatever the cause was, but never had it been so… frightening.

They were faded scars, pale, almost blending into his pale, near-translucent skin. He wiped his forehead again. It was certainly sweltering. So the scars had been from a while ago. He wondered why he had never seen them before, frowning. Shinobu frequently wore long-sleeved shirts, but that could not account for everything. Probably their faintness and the sheer absurdity that Shinobu could do anything like that made a difference.

It was almost funny. He thought of Shinobu as invincible.

Was that still true?

Cursing the relative humidity of the room and wondering if it was possible to be boiled alive in air, Mitsuru stood, moving toward the window. Greenwood could be clearly seen from here.

He would wait here a bit longer, allow Shinobu to collect himself, and then go back and ask him if he wanted to talk. Yes. That seemed like a good plan.

Shinobu was annoyed. His lives should stay separate. This was now. Then was far in the past and did not matter anymore.

His flipped his left forearm over and gazed down, despising. The scars were long and perfectly straight, of course.

They were reminders of the thing that had happened that he never wanted to remember.

He shut his eyes and leaned on his elbow against the desk, feeling weary. Mitsuru was probably angry, but he couldn’t help that. He wouldn’t want to know the past.

His mother begging him, pleading with him over and over…

His father, angry and shouting, but never naming his son’s crime, as if to speak it would be blasphemy…

Himself in the dark with Hikaru, the door opening, his father’s outraged face…

Himself, alone in the bathroom, the hot water pouring out of the faucet, the tears equal from his eyes, the self-hatred reaching the highest point, then darkness…

And hospitals…

And then Greenwood.

They hadn’t wanted him to attend Ryukuto, despite it’s excellent academic reputation. They had wanted him to go to the same school Akira and his father and his grandfather before him had gone to. But he had insisted, and they, afraid, had eventually agreed. It was upon his small shoulders that their family rested now. They really had no choice.

A bitter laugh trickled from between his lips and he clamped them shut, surprised at that. He had thought he was over that. Odd… it seemed Mitsuru knowing had almost made it worse. Here, he was pure, untainted. Or had been.

His refusal to tell him had hurt the boy; that had shown clearly on his face. But what else could he have done?

Sighing, he reached down and picked up the cards they had been playing with and set them on Mitsuru’s desk. No use getting the room all messy when his emotions already were.

He heard a hand on the doorknob and immediately smoothed over his face, turning his eyes hesitantly back toward the pile of finished homework on the desk. He could always check his math problems again…

Mitsuru entered and shut the door gently behind him. He stood, back against the door a moment, and Shinobu could feel those amethyst eyes piercing him, though he was sure the look was gentle. Shame had a way of amplifying things.

“Shinobu…” Mitsuru started, and the kindness in that voice made him almost flinch. Bastard! He didn’t want his pity. Mitsuru, of all people, should understand that!

“Yes?” His voice betrayed nothing. Amazing how a lifetime of practice of hiding one’s feelings could pay off.

Mitsuru, however, was stubborn. He moved to Shinobu’s bed and sat, wiping his face with his shirt. The poor boy was sweltering. Shinobu did not have sympathy. He had trained himself not to feel the heat so that he could wear long-sleeved shirts closer to year round. Today was an exception, and he already regretted it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Want to? No.” His words were flat. Of course he did not want to talk about this. He thought he had made that perfectly clear beforehand. Mitsuru was bright. He should have picked that up by now.

But Mitsuru, for all his brightness, held his stubbornness closer. “Do you need to talk about it?”

Now he turned, his eyes cold and harsh. He almost felt a little guilty when he saw Mitsuru blink and look away. “Mitsuru, what’s done is done. The past is over.”

The blond boy was quiet a moment, not looking up. Assuredly he was mulling over Shinobu’s last few words. He took a deep breath before he raised his eyes and spoke. “Shinobu, I’m your friend. If there’s something bothering you, I want to know. I want to help.”

He was radiating ice. “Mitsuru, that’s exactly the point. The only thing now that’s bothering me is your insistence that something is bothering me.” He wasn’t trying to sound scathing, but that’s how he was coming across. It didn’t matter. If Mitsuru never spoke about this again, he would be happier. “Everything is fine now.”

His roommate watched him a moment more, concern simply oozing from his eyes, and Shinobu turned away in disgust. He did not need pity.

“Shinobu…” Mitsuru started again, but then stopped. His hands were playing the seam of his shorts and he seemed to notice this the same time Shinobu did. He smoothed out the shorts with one hand and then laid them both in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

This startled him. He looked up, confused. Mitsuru was apologizing? This was almost a blow. Mitsuru was apologizing for trying to get to know him better? For trying to understand? I should be grateful, he chided himself darkly, but the small ounce of hurt was still welling inside him.

“If you don’t want to talk about something, I should know better than to pry.” He offered him a small smile and stood. “I think I’m heading out for ice cream. Want to come?”

Reconciliation. Shinobu seized it between his teeth. “I would. Admittedly, it is a little warm.”

Mitsuru gave him another small smile, his eyes tinged with something else, something not even Shinobu had seen on his friend. But he made no mention of it. He didn’t want to ruin the trip out.

Mitsuru had somehow managed to get chocolate all over his face, but Shinobu did not say anything. It was [kind of] cute, watching him try to slurp up all the ice cream before it puddled at his feet.

Shinobu had opted for a soda with ice – certainly much safer.

Mitsuru looked down and glared. Chocolate all over his shirt. He looked like some inept six year old. Snatching a few napkins from the ice cream stand, he started to mop up his chest. This was a really nice white shirt too. Damn.

His roommate had been reasonably quiet since they started out, and Mitsuru hadn’t wanted to pry. Of course he was desperately curious, but he figured that Shinobu would tell him in time, if he needed to know. If he didn’t… well, Mitsuru had a few secrets from Shinobu. Not many, and none exactly life-threatening, but a few. He stuck his tongue out and tried to curb the tendencies of the ice cream to follow the path of gravity. It was reasonably ineffective.

“It’s a good look on you,” Shinobu noted, a smile forming around the straw in his mouth.

“Hmph,” Mitsuru shot back cleverly. “I notice I paid for all this ice cream, but most of it is ending up on the ground.”

“Actually, most of it is ending up on you,” he replied, indicating his friend’s shirt. “But it makes you unique.”

He shot him a dark gaze. “Is it in this season?”

“No,” and Shinobu was definitely grinning around the straw now. “But maybe you’ll start a trend.”

“Hmph,” Mitsuru reiterated. “I think you’re just jealous that I look better in chocolate than you do.”

Shinobu was silent a moment, and when he spoke, his tone was much more subdued. “We ought to get you back to change soon then.”

Mitsuru was completely thrown off. What had brought about such an abrupt mood shift? “Uh… sure.” Did it have anything to do with his earlier discovery? He tried to lighten the atmosphere again. “Because I definitely don’t think the chocolate fashion is catching on quickly.”

Shinobu flashed him a terse smile, and turned his eyes back toward the path to Greenwood.

The blond was absolutely sure that his recent acquisition of a brief glimpse of Shinobu’s past had hurt the other boy. He pondered on this as they walked in silence, still trying to rescue what he could of his failing ice cream. He laid out what he knew.

Shinobu, at some point in his past, had tried to kill himself by slitting his wrists.

Well. That sum of knowledge was certainly very helpful.

The question that was bothering him, and probably what Shinobu did not want him to find out, was why.

Why would such a perfect boy want to end his life? Why would someone who had so much going for him slash his wrists? Why would an heir to a fortune, a huge company, and a solid future try to end that before it could begin?

“Your hand is chocolate,” Shinobu noted, the amused tone coming back into his voice as he eyed his roommate.

Mitsuru blinked. “I- what? Ack!” With one last attempt at saving his ice cream, he started to lick his hand, trying to savor the last cool bits before he was just plain sticky. He popped the cone in his mouth.

“You’re a slob,” the other boy said affably. His eyes were no longer hard.

“I know,” Mitsuru replied, sounding more cheerful than that comment had deserved. “But you put up with me anyway.”

A faint smile etched across Shinobu’s face at those words. “Of course I do.”

It was rather strange that he left those words hanging instead of ending the sentence with a jab at his friend, but he shrugged. Shinobu must be more upset than he thought. “Yuck, I almost don’t want to go back into the dorms.”

Shinobu glanced at him, wordless.

“Too hot,” the blond growled. “It’s too damn hot everywhere.”

The green-eyed boy smiled slightly. “It’s summer, Mitsuru.” He received a dark glare, but no reply. Summer, and hot enough for Shinobu to wear a T-shirt. To allow Mitsuru to glimpse the past made physical.

Mitsuru’s eyes had wandered down to his own arm, to the inside. What could that have possibly felt like? What could have possibly driven him to such a thing?

Well, he had all vacation to find out. And Tezuka Shinobu was not the only one around who could get what he wanted.

2.

The next day smiled hard and unforgiving. Mitsuru had given up on respectability and slept in his briefs. Shinobu, as always, had donned a full set of pajamas before settling himself between the sheets.

The morning light stabbed through the window into Shinobu’s eyes. He inched a bit over to his left in the bed, cursing once more the disadvantages about having a window that faced east. But he was awake. He might as well do something.

The shower seemed a promising place to start the day. He rose from his bunk, disentangling himself from the clinging sheets, and made his bed properly. For some reason, it seemed even more important today than ever to be neat. He could do without the clutter in his life.

Mitsuru was snoring rather quietly for once, his curtain wide open and his arms flopped down over the side. Shinobu smiled slightly. It was odd how Mitsuru, at times like these, so unguarded, seemed so sweet to him. He wanted to reach out and ruffle his hair, but was afraid that would wake him. He shivered slightly in the distinct lack of breeze, gathered his shower necessities, and exited the room.

Although hot showers in summer seemed almost redundant, Shinobu liked them. He always felt so refreshed when he stepped out. It was tepid water that made him remember things he did not want to.

He turned the knob toward the red and stepped in, feeling each drop needle his skin until he adjusted to the flinging warmth. He ran a hand through his damp hair and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. Freesia scent glided around him as he lathered.

It was a safe place, the shower. A warm, safe, clean cocoon. No one would bother him here. No one could touch him here. The eyes and ears of his parents and siblings did not exist here. Only heat and water and comfort.

No one’s expectations. No one’s dreams forced on him.

And most importantly, those damn amethyst eyes, shining with kindness and gentleness, could not watch him here.

Mitsuru awoke, cursing the world for its remorseless heat. He had heard the door click. Shinobu had left? No. Shinobu was back.

He lazily rolled over onto his side so that he could easily spy on his roommate. The slender boy was clad in a robe, replacing his toiletries in his closet in their proper place. Mitsuru gave him a surreptitious frown. That boy was too neat. His clothes were always folded, his uniform perfectly pressed, his homework arranged in ridiculously matching folders, one for each class. He needed to live a little.

“Good morning, Mitsuru,” Shinobu said, not even glancing up from where he was still straightening out his closet.

“Morning,” Mitsuru greeted back, much less cheery. He could tolerate the early hours, but they were not as welcomed by him as they were by his roommate.

Shinobu opted not to continue the conversation, and instead started searching for clothing appropriate for the day. Short sleeves would not do today. Not after yesterday’s debacle.

Mitsuru, however, decided otherwise. “What are you doing today?”

Green eyes flickered up toward him. “Doing? Probably straightening out the room, assessing the profits from the betting ring and seeing who I have not yet collected from, and whatever else comes up.” He pulled out an outfit and started to dress.

The blond stretched a moment, discarding the last tendrils of sleep. “I wonder what Hasukawa and Shun are doing today…”

Shinobu stood, clad only in shorts with his shirt still in hand, reached over to his roommate and set a piece of paper down on his bunk. “They left us a note.” He pulled on his shirt and proceeded to button it up.

Mitsuru squirmed upright, eyes flickering down to the note.

“Sempai! My mom finally came to pick me up for summer break. Suka-chan decided to come with us and enjoy the air conditioning at the hotel. We’ll be back soon! Have a good break. Love, Shun.” At the end of the note there was a little caricature of Shun with a victory sign, grinning. Mitsuru sighed and set the paper down.

Several things occurred to him at once. The first and foremost on his mind was that he would have Shinobu alone to pry his secret out of him. The second was that Shun was getting extremely perceptive and he almost uneasily wondered if he was a bit too perceptive. The third and most muted was that no matter what happened during this vacation, Hasukawa and Shun would not know. For some reason, this reassured him.

Shinobu had finished dressing, so Mitsuru hopped down from his bed. He stuck his hand in his closet, pulled out a shirt and shorts uncaringly and tossed them on. Shinobu watched this with a disbelieving eye. “It’s amazing girls like you,” he said, smiling slightly and turning to his desk.

Mitsuru, who did not match by any stretch of the imagination, shrugged. For some reason, he was not very fond of Shinobu mentioning his girl issues. He preferred mostly not to think of them at all. “Oi, Shinobu.”

Dark eyes swiveled around to the blond, wary of his tone. “Yes?”

Mitsuru sat down on his roommate’s neat bed, indenting it slightly and wrinkling it. Shinobu winced. “Where did you go to school before you came to Ryukuto?”

The question seemed mostly innocent and harmless, but the undercurrents in Mitsuru’s voice betrayed him. Shinobu’s walls immediately went up. “I went to a small regional school,” he replied smoothly, seating himself at his desk. After all, Mitsuru had only said before, not how much before.

The blond nodded slightly, thinking over this. “Were you very popular?” Strange; he’d never even considered Shinobu’s past before. He had always assumed that he had always been exactly the same that he was at Greenwood. Granted, he himself had changed since he had arrived here, but his change had been gradual, throughout all the time he had known Shinobu. The other boy did not seem to have changed since Mitsuru had met him.

Shinobu watched him cautiously. “Somewhat…” Where was this going?

Lilac-glinted eyes watched him back. “You had many friends then?”

Aha. “I had enough.”

A pause. Mitsuru was treading on Ming eggshells and he knew it. “But you haven’t kept in contact with any of them.”

And there it was. “No, I haven’t.” His voice was flat.

Interesting. Mitsuru mulled over this relevant information. He was aware of Shinobu’s annoyance at this line of questioning, but he was also sure Shinobu would not lie to him.

The counter-accusation that was straining off Shinobu’s lips he held fast. Mitsuru did not keep in touch with many friends from his younger days either. But to risk looking petty and childish and weak in front of Mitsuru was tantamount to defeat.

Mitsuru sprawled out on Shinobu’s bed, noting a moment it lightly smelled like him. Blinking and wondering why that had even crossed his mind, he cast a gaze toward his slender roommate. He was sitting at his desk, watching Mitsuru back, green eyes dark and mostly walled, a few traces of fear escaping their prison. His arms were folded across his chest, the universal sign of defensive discomfort. He was clad in another long-sleeved shirt, though light-weight, and, incongruously, a pair of shorts. They, of course, looked excellent on him despite their clash of seasons. “You look hot.”

“I’m not.”

The blond wiped a bead of perspiration off his forehead. “Sorry.” He stretched out on his back, almost comfortable despite the hellfires raging outside.

A pregnant pause ensued. Mitsuru was rather contented, quite sure the silence was putting his roommate on edge. For some reason, this pleased him. After all, why should Shinobu always have the upper hand?

For his part, Shinobu was feeling a tad tetchy. He wished Mitsuru would just hurry and ask his questions and be done, to judge him, hate him, and then never speak to him again. Well… that was a bit overdramatic. But who hadn’t judged him for his past? Certainly his parents had. Judged and condemned him. Why would Mitsuru be any different?

Somewhere in the midst of his thoughts, Mitsuru had risen from the bed and was now standing directly in front of him, looking down at him with those violet eyes, dark with worry and concern. “Shinobu…”

Damn him! He flung aside his guilt and looked up, unabashed. “Yes?”

The blond boy squatted down in front of him, so that he was just below eye level. “You’ll stay in contact with me, right?”

There was need in his voice. Pure, sweet, untainted. Shinobu’s eyes widened slightly, almost imperceptibly, and he looked away. Mitsuru wouldn’t judge him. Mitsuru was his best friend. Mitsuru was the person he cared about most in the whole world. “Yes…”

This would probably be as close as Shinobu would come to consent to ask about his past. Whether to take it now or not was not an option. “Shinobu?”

The deep emerald eyes raised back up, looking at his roommate. For some reason the concern that dwelt in his roommate did not seem to mock him. He was silent.

Knowing his friend well enough, Mitsuru plunged on. “I’m worried about you, Shinobu. You don’t usually clam up when I ask you if something is wrong, especially if it’s in the past. I guess I’m worried that whatever it is might still be bothering you.” He reached a gentle hand out and set it lightly on his friend’s knee, trying to shed the last vestiges of distance. “I want to help you.”

Shinobu stared at him in something crossed between disbelief and impassiveness. He was still intent on that then? A cold war of desires clashed silently in his mind a moment before he opened his mouth. “No, you don’t.”

Mitsuru was taken aback. Shinobu’s voice had been firm, yet strangely expressionless, flat, unemotional. “Shinobu…?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Puzzled by this obviously untrue denial, Mitsuru did not abate his questioning. “Why doesn’t it matter?”

A crack in the façade almost appeared. “It was a long time ago, Mitsuru. It doesn’t matter why. None of it matters.” He was reigning in his control with the tightest leash he could muster and it was still coming a bit short. What was it about Mitsuru that left him so childishly vulnerable? No, he knew the answer to that question clearly.

“Of course it matters!” Mitsuru shot back, withdrawing his hand. He stood and pulled over the chair from his own desk to be more comfortable and yet still be eye level with his roommate.

“Why?”

Such a simple, plaintive question. Mitsuru bit his lip, watching the other, eyes still dark. Why did Shinobu matter to him? Why did anything matter? “Because… it matters to me. Even if no one else in the entire world cares, I still have to live my life. My life is important to me. So it matters.” It was a one-shot deal. Mitsuru would not let Shinobu blow his.

Green eyes widened slightly, then looked away. It wasn’t defeat. No; it was more of a sweet acceptance, a culmination of everything, the reason he had continued to live. Mitsuru’s rejection or acceptance now was the deciding factor. He paused a moment. What kind of thinking was that? Hadn’t he grown past that?

Slowly, from the warmth of the amethyst eyes in front of him, the ice began to crack, and he opened his mouth to speak.

interlude

Summer vacation was always so warm, especially then. He studied and studied, though of course he didn’t need to. It was a way to block out burgeoning feelings that swarmed him.

It had hardly mattered who it was. Just that it happened, he was caught, and he was denounced.

Stupid.

He hadn’t known him long, but they had grown to be quick friends. Friends had sleepovers, even Shinobu. Sleepovers required the dark.

The questions had been innocent at first, but the minds of twelve year old boys don’t tend to stay along that path.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

“No. You?”

“Nah, girls are yucky.”

He could hear his parents wandering around in their room, making ready for bed, so he lowered his voice. “I wonder what it feels like to be kissed.”

A blond head popped suddenly into his vision, blue eyes sparkling in the dark, a smile lighting on that youthful face. “Wanna find out?”

It was strange to be so open about all this, especially with both of them being boys, but he shrugged, sitting up on his bed. His friend, Hikaru, hopping up beside him, watching him studiously, also kept his voice down. “You’re supposed to close your eyes…”

Shinobu did as he was commanded.

“And then… I lean forward…”

He could feel warm breath near his lips and was suddenly eager. Did this kiss mean he loved Hikaru? Did Hikaru love him? And then there was the feeling of heat and slight wetness against his mouth.

Like all first kisses, it was a rather messy affair, but it was well-meaning. He pulled away after a moment, looking to his friend with shining eyes. “I think that was good…”

Hikaru grinned widely at him. “There’s more, you know.”

Of course Shinobu knew; he had gone to school too.

It was about the point when both of them had their shirts off and were still exploring different ways to kiss when it happened.

They must have been making just a bit too much noise, the over-enthusiasm of youth getting the better of them. Shinobu was busy kissing down Hikaru’s neck, whose hands were exploring his young body, and the door burst open, the sudden flash of light painful and bright, and they froze, eyes wide and terrified.

And Shinobu knew it was over.

His father had started yelling as soon as the first shock had worn off and he had cowered back against the wall, clutching blankets protectively against himself. Hikaru had fled to the other side of the room. His mother came in to see what the commotion was about, and thankfully, ever so thankfully, Nagisa was away at school and Akira had already vanished, because his father started explaining loudly with a rather unclean language rare for him. His mother had simply started to weep.

Immediately afterwards, she had called Hikaru’s parents and they came to pick him up.

That was the last time he had seen him.

His parents transferred him to a small private school, one they hoped would instill a value system in their son that his flawless yet faulty upbringing obviously had not. The pressure was overwhelming.

Every day he was told he was wrong, that his feelings must be controlled, even to himself. Control had never been an issue for him outwardly, but to not even allow himself to feel what he wanted was unbearable. His parents’ half-nagging, half-begging reminders to purge his sin were constant. It was his duty to preserve the family business. There was no one else who could. It was his job to see that the family name survived to the next generation. Akira was gone, discounted from the ranks, and Nagisa was only a girl. It was his job to be brilliant and cold and perfect and strong, a miniature replica of his stern father, and if he were not…

On the day he drew the bath water, nothing in particular had happened. It had been a generally bad day, as were almost all his days. The only unusual thing had been a stray thought that had flitted through his head all day.

He was a disgrace to his family. A shame. He could never live up to their hopes and expectations. Every wish and desire of his was against theirs, and was therefore null and wrong.

He had drawn the bath water until it was comfortably warm, locked the door, taken off his clothes, and settled himself in. His determination and resolution were soothing. In his right hand he took the razor, brand new, stolen from his father’s medicine cabinet, and drew a long line down his forearm. It stung at first, but he ignored it. A second followed, and then a third, and another and another, until his hands were shaking. It didn’t hurt now. He switched hands, repeating the process on his right arm, and then slowly settled himself in the water. He could feel the water becoming colder, colder… There was no pain, just an overwhelming sense of relief, and then blackness.

And then hospitals.

His family was rich, so every hospital was pretentious and dignified, clean and stark. He hated them.

They had found him somehow, before he had succeeded, and called emergency assistance, who had provided them with an ambulance and crew. They had bandaged him and stuck IVs in him until his heart rate and breathing and blood pressure were all normal.

The next six months passed with him being shuffled from hospital to hospital, from white room to white room, from psychologist to sociologist to psychiatrist, each trying to crack the boy before them without success.

As soon as Shinobu had woken up in the first hospital and realized he was still alive, he killed himself in another way – emotionally. No emotions equal no pain. Only loathing.

And hospitals.

Finally, they mostly gave up, leaving him in one to continue his studies, preparing him for high school, for the real world. His last few years of junior high were spent there, healing physically and freezing emotionally.

Ryukuto Academy was the escape that suicide had not provided. He stooped low enough to actually threaten his parents, but in the end, they let him go because they needed him. Just needed him.

And after the constant dreariness of white and sterility, Greenwood was a welcome change. He closed himself off from people, not specifically shunning them, but certainly distancing himself.

Except, of course, for his roommate, whose constant presence could not be discounted. Slowly, he found himself growing to like his flaxen-haired companion. It was a cheery camaraderie they had, recapturing some of the mischievous innocence his younger days had lacked. His scars had faded until they were barely memories. School was easy, as it always had been, but it was pleasant as well. Extracurricular activities kept him entertained and he even had people that he would consider friends, most especially his roommate. Everything held that sense of shining perfection, happiness, and hope. He was actually happy.

Until he realized he had fallen in love with Mitsuru.

3.

“It’s a long story,” he started, his voice not as controlled as normal. Mitsuru inched his chair a little closer, ready to embrace his roommate if he did something so out of character as starting to cry.

“I’m listening,” he said gently, waiting. He was a bit proud that his hunches had been right, but not glad of the consequence.

Shinobu took a deep breath, steadying himself. He would be calm. He would focus. That was the past. This was now. He schooled his eyes to rest on  Mitsuru’s chin, not daring to rise above that. Above that chin were lips, soft pink lips, delicate, warm…

Stop that, he hissed at himself, and refocused on Mitsuru’s chin. But the jerk back to the present had been needed.

He flipped his left arm over, resting it in his lap, shifting his gaze downward. “I was twelve.” Well. It was a start.

Mitsuru nodded encouragingly, his light eyes never leaving his usually-stoic roommate’s face. This was something comparable to opening a treasure box that no one had ever seen before… “Go on, Shinobu.”

He felt trapped. He had to tell Mitsuru this, but he did not want to. Denial was so much easier when one only had oneself to lie to.

This was where it would come out. This was where Mitsuru would find out his great secret, the one his family had pleaded with him to change. This was the point that Mitsuru would refuse to ever again be in his company. An emotion coursed through him suddenly, one that he hadn’t felt since his father had discovered him.

Fear.

Warm hands encased his and he realized with a pang that they had been shaking. Mitsuru was watching him worriedly, that kindness glimmering from his gentle eyes. He deserved to know, even if it killed Shinobu.

Which, of course, it had the potential to do.

No, that thinking was silly; he was over that. He took a slow deep breath and tried to start again, praying that Mitsuru would not hate him.

“My father found me kissing another boy.”

There. Flat-out. He had said it.

The proverbial ball was in Mitsuru’s court now.

The hands tightened slowly around his and he looked up. Mitsuru was still watching him, his facial expression unchanged. “Go on,” he urged again quietly.

Shinobu had not been prepared for this. Acceptance? Where was the condemnation? The disgust? The look on his face that meant he would despise Shinobu forever?

But there was none of this, only a deep desire to understand.

So Shinobu cracked slightly. “I… don’t know what to say…” Why wasn’t Mitsuru looking at him with that disgust in his eyes?

Mitsuru studied him silently a moment, somewhat worried, then shifted his fingers away from Shinobu’s hand till one finger rested on the inside of his faintly scarred right forearm. “Why did you do this then?”

Shinobu’s eyes rested on the gentle finger. Why indeed? Escape? Cowardice? Desperation? “Because… I can never be what my family wants.” His gaze raised to the face of his roommate, a bit hesitantly.

Amethyst eyes met his and Mitsuru nodded slightly. “You felt you disappointed them, so you had to make up for it?”

Slowly, Shinobu nodded back, then paused a moment. “It’s not just that… I failed them.” Failed was an understatement.

Mitsuru frowned faintly. “You didn’t live up to their expectations.”

“Yes.”

“So you tried to kill yourself?”

“It was more than that.” Shinobu’s voice took on an almost hostile tone. “They were always telling me I was wrong… The only good thing I could do was schoolwork… so that’s all I did… everything I did was wrong… and then after there were hospitals, so many hospitals… “

The frown lining Mitsuru’s face increased a bit, as did his grip on Shinobu’s hands. “They put you in hospitals?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Shinobu thought that should have been obvious. “Because there was something wrong with me.”

There was certainly a darkness about Mitsuru’s face now. “Shinobu… do you really believe that?”

Another pause. Shinobu was at a loss. He had never considered this before. “I don’t know…”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Mitsuru said firmly, voice emphatic. “There’s nothing wrong with you at all. Do you understand?”

Shinobu wondered vaguely if Mitsuru truly meant that. It was surreal, this absolute acceptance the other boy was giving him. He simply nodded, unable to come up with a better response. What would Mitsuru say if he told him everything? It would be almost funny to watch the look of sheer horror traverse his eyes.

Mitsuru squeezed his hands one last time before he let them go. “Is that all? Everything?” He was quite sure he’d get the full version out of him later, when he was calmer.

Everything? Shinobu froze. What was Mitsuru asking of him? “What… do you mean?”

“Is that everything you were hiding from me?” The complete sheen of innocence that nearly sparkled from the other boy’s countenance was remarkable.

There was a silence for a moment, harsh to Shinobu’s ears. The world had shattered at his feet like a cheap glass trinket. He was standing in the pieces and they were cutting his feet. “No…”

Mitsuru looked up at him, bright eyes glimmering. So naïve. Was Shinobu really about to destroy this soft purity? “No?”

He was blind. The glass that had cut his feet had somehow also destroyed his vision. There was only blackness and the tightening in his stomach and Mitsuru’s damnably beautiful eyes. Or maybe he was drowning. That would account for the blackness. He was suffocating in space, and Mitsuru’s eyes were the last stars he would see.

“I love you.”

4.

The first girl had come to him before he had even hit puberty. Well, that was somewhat untrue. The first that had been serious had been when he was thirteen. His voice had not even started down the creaky staircase to manhood.

She had approached him outside of his last class, pressing a note into his hands, trembling. He had been puzzled. “What is this?”

“Just… read it,” she had whispered to him hesitantly. Her eyes had widened with fear as he started to open it. “No!”

He looked up at her, confused. “You said to read it.”

“When… after I leave… please…” It was her tone that stayed him, her frightened, pleading tone.

He had shrugged, pocketed the note, and gone on his way.

It wasn’t the last note. Nor was it the last girl.

Nor was it the last box of chocolates, the last hand-made scarf, or the last tear-stained cheek.

He regarded Valentine’s Day with a dread akin to seeing long-lost relatives – typically long-lost for a reason. Chocolate was good; certainly he didn’t mind that. It was the gaggle of girls that waited outside the dorm and pounced on him as soon as he exited that he found distasteful. What had he ever done to them to warrant such abuse?

Of course he knew he was handsome. Every chance he got he used it to his advantage. But Ryukuto had been a kind of equalizer. No one was smitten by his beauty. No one was swayed by his sweet words. He felt, for the first time in his life, like he belonged someplace, like he was normal.

He hated their helpless feminine desperation, that pitiful longing that just desired, and did nothing to achieve this desire. Perhaps if one of them had bothered to get to know him, he might have relented. Perhaps if just one had seen past his golden veneer. Perhaps… but he would never know. He hated the shallowness.

A relationship had never been important to him. Maybe when he was in university it would seem important, but he simply did not have time to go off gallivanting with some girl that only saw a pretty face. Romance was not something to take lightly. Casual flings held no interest. He wanted an actual relationship, not a falsified mockery of love.

And now his best friend had just confessed love to him.

It was funny. Shinobu’s head was bowed slightly, looking at his hands, in all likelihood tracing the line of his scars with his dark eyes. Was he too ashamed to look up?

But Shinobu was waiting for him to speak. He needed an answer, any answer.

But was there one?

Shinobu’s breath had decided to lodge in his throat and was refusing to budge. His hands lay in his lap limply, like forsaken dolls. Mitsuru had been silent too long, though it had barely been a minute. This was his cue. This was the moment Mitsuru would abandon him.

Inwardly he clawed desperately to take back his words, begging time to renounce him just this once. Outwardly, his face was a complete mask, not even his eyes betraying him, just watching his hands dying on his lap.

Mitsuru cleared his throat, obviously feeling awkward. “Shinobu…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Another awkward pause. Mitsuru was fumbling frantically for something to say. “Look, Shinobu-“

Flashing green eyes cut him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

That again. The blond was getting frustrated. “It does matter!” Why wouldn’t Shinobu understand? Why wouldn’t he even give him any time to think through this?

Ice. “I’m sorry I said anything, Mitsuru. I was wrong.”

Mitsuru blinked. He was sorry? Why? Everything was too sudden. Shinobu loved him. So that left him… where? “No, I…”

Shinobu gave him a wan smile. “Breakfast will be over soon. You’d better hurry.”

“You won’t come?” Was that dismay edging into Mitsuru’s voice?

“I’m not hungry.”

Ah. Shinobu was giving him time to think then. Or else he was ending this conversation forever.

Mitsuru stood warily. “You’ll be all right till I come back?”

Silly question. Of course he would be fine. He was always fine. If one couldn’t feel, how could one be anything but fine? “Yes.” Abrupt.

The blond’s face flickered momentarily, but he then turned, stepping toward the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. He glanced back, as if he wanted to speak, but then opened the door, stepped out, and shut it. Yes. He would think. Breakfast would clear his mind and he would get some cold juice to clear his head. It was hot. Or was that his face?

Inside the room, Shinobu was gazing blankly at the wall, just for a moment, until he melted into tears.

Somehow, despite the heat, Mitsuru’s rice had managed to get cold. He idly poked it with his chopsticks, noting that it was still sticky. One grain clung to a stick and he gazed at it balefully.

Shinobu loved him? Granted, the boy did not show much emotion, but he would have thought he could have picked that out. Was he really that oblivious?

But Shinobu was a boy. Why would he be looking for that in another boy?

But it wasn’t offensive. No… the more he thought about it, the more flattered he felt. Shinobu was the boy everyone worshipped, the strong one, the smart one, Shinobu the infallible. Yet he would risk giving his heart to Mitsuru? It gave him a heady feeling.

But the problem that had presented itself was not one of his ego. It was the continuation of Shinobu’s ego that he had to worry about. His roommate was on edge – even he could see that. The simple discovery of the scars had sent him healing back possibly years. Mitsuru shivered in the warm room. The humidity made the heat almost tangible and his shirt was sticking to him. What was he going to do about his best friend?

Where did friendship cross the line to love? Were they different? What differentiated them? He stabbed his chopsticks into the bowl viciously and plopped a sticky ball of rice into his mouth. Shinobu was crazy. Why on earth had he fallen in love with someone as stupid as Mitsuru? Frustrated, he took a swig of cold tea. That boy wasn’t only suicidal – he was also insane.

The issue came down to one thing only – did Mitsuru love his roommate back?

That would certainly make things easier, he mused, and definitely liven up his night life. But he didn’t want to risk either his or Shinobu’s feelings unless he was sure of how he felt. That would be too unfair to both of them.

Yes. He would certainly have to think on this more. But first, he would have to tell Shinobu his concerns.

He stood, catching his tray in his hands and heading off to dispose of it. He would have to be honest, but that would be fine. Shinobu had placed so much trust in him by telling him. He wouldn’t forget that easily.

His path led him back to their room.

5.

What had he done?

Despair was coursing through his veins, thicker than blood. He dropped his head into his hands, hating himself. Surely Mitsuru had made good his escape at this golden opportunity Shinobu had given him. The boy wasn’t a fool. That was partly the reason Shinobu cared so deeply for him. No; Shinobu himself was the fool.

He hadn’t cried in over four years.

Maybe it wasn’t despair. Maybe anguish was a closer word. He was sure he had lost Mitsuru, the only person in the world who held any meaning for him, perhaps the only one who ever had.

Fool!

Why had he done that? Why had he told him? Why had he wasted everything on three small words?

Because you care enough about him to be honest, a gentle voice murmured in the back of his mind, but roughly, he shoved it away. What was honesty in the face of brutal bereavement and loneliness?

He was a complete idiot.

The tears were hot on his face, burning him like the sun did not. It felt like his eyes were bleeding.

Not only had he failed his family, but he had failed the one he loved most. He had failed Mitsuru.

Wiping a fist angrily across his cheeks, he stood silently, and threw open the door to his closet. His eyes were dark as he sifted through his belongings, determination burning in his eyes. He found the item, shut the closet tightly, and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. He headed with measured steps to that bathroom.

The shower. It was safe there. He would be alone.

Mitsuru paused, hearing a strange steady silence from inside the room. He pushed open the door slightly, glanced in, and saw no one.

Well. Shinobu must have gone out.

He sighed, and wiped the sweat beading on his brow away with a careless hand. He would have more time to think at least.

He pulled out a book and settled himself at his desk.

It was cold at first, but then the gentle stinging romanced him, and a faint trickle of red appeared. He sat in the shower, his left sleeve rolled up, brows knit in concentration. He didn’t want to press too hard, just hard enough to focus himself, to feel the pain outwardly that he was feeling inside.

His tears that he had missed had dried on his cheeks, making the skin feel tight. He pulled the razor up a little higher, gentle, testing. This razor was sharp. That was good to know.

Another line of red appeared. Pretty. He felt almost a hysteric glee at seeing it. It was certainly distracting him from his problem with Mitsuru.

Mitsuru.

Abruptly his hand froze, perched above his arm, the edge of the blade laced with blood like the talons of a bird of prey.

Mitsuru wouldn’t want him to do this.

He lowered his hand slowly, moving the razor away from his arm, pain sending delicious twinges up his shoulder. His hands were shaking. He leaned back heavily against the side of the shower, feeling old.

He hadn’t been denied yet. Mitsuru had simply changed the subject. No. It had been Shinobu who had cut him off. Hadn’t it?

It didn’t matter. Mitsuru couldn’t love him anyway. He had failed him. He was worthless.

The tears came again, retracing their paths down his cheeks, silent sobs wracking his thin frame. This time, however, mimicking the tears in a grim display, blood glinted its way down his forearm as well.

6.

There was a subtle respite from the burning heat that had relentlessly blistered Tokyo for the past few days when Mitsuru awoke the next morning. Shinobu had not returned at all that day, and he hadn’t heard him come in that night, but sure enough, there he was in the bed below him, curled up in his sheets like a child. He looked so young when he was relaxed. But the blood was running to Mitsuru’s head. He pulled himself back upright.

He climbed the ladder down from his bunk, instead of his typical leap and thud onto the floor, stepping lightly on each rung to avoid waking his roommate. It was rare to see him like this.

Silvery hair graced the white pillow cover beneath his head, and hands that nearly matched the white of the sheet clutched the blankets protectively close. His eyes were shut, but not tensely, and his face was tranquil. Mitsuru crouched next to the other boy’s bed, studying silently. He wanted to reach out and brush Shinobu’s bangs off his forehead, but kept his hands to himself. He was so relaxed and calm, and Mitsuru was sure if he woke him that the same fear would grip his eyes as yesterday. Listening to his roommate’s steady breath, he stood and moved a few scant steps to his desk, and sat down. At least this way, if Shinobu awoke suddenly, he would have a pretense of doing something else.

The blond shifted a few papers with meaningless blue scrawl on them into his hands, his gaze cascading over the paper and back to the sleeping boy. He would speak with him as soon as he woke up. He was resolved. Shinobu would know his fears and they would talk and then things would be all right. He was sure they could work things out. Even if they decided that they did not want to risk ruining their friendship, even if they agreed to see how far their relationship progressed… he felt sure Shinobu would remain by his side.

Lowering his eyes away from his friend, he realized that he was hungry. It wasn’t much of a surprise.

He pulled open his closet and pulled out some clothes, a T-shirt and shorts, and pulled them on. He would go to breakfast and come back and bother Shinobu if he wasn’t up then. Maybe he’d get two breakfasts out of the day.

Thus cheered, he exited the room, shutting it with a delicate click behind him.

Shinobu’s first thought was that he did not want to get out of bed. The second was that the room was painfully quiet and that he was definitely alone.

He rolled over onto his other side and peered blearily into the room. He had slept poorly last night. He had barely eaten the day before, and what he had managed to eat had been snatched furtively and eaten alone. His left arm stung slightly. Perhaps it would be better to dress while Mitsuru was out. Fewer questions that way.

He slid out of the bunk, pulling out of the clinging grasp of the bedsheets, and made his bed slowly. It was warm, but not hot. Today might be bearable.

Clothes were almost an afterthought. Certainly, they were clean, but he did not scrupulously fret over them as he usually did. It didn’t matter what he wore. He was sure it would be today that Mitsuru would reject him for sure, that solid, resounding, resonant “no.” He supposed he ought to dress nicely for today then, to remember when he had lost his chance at ever being happy, at being a good friend, but it didn’t seem to matter.

He was in the midst of pulling his shirt over his head when the door was flung open.

“Shinobu!” a rather cheery Mitsuru greeted him, looking sated and pleased with that fact. “Great! You’re up.”

The other boy had twisted and taken a step back at the sound of the door, caught like an animal with headlights bearing down on it, but he managed to pull himself together quickly. The shirt he finished pulling on, smoothing it out over his chest, and gave his roommate a wary glance. “Good morning.” At least he hoped it would be.

Mitsuru wasted no time and the merriment in his amethyst eyes faded down to a light seriousness. “We need to talk.”

“Of course.”

The blond boy flopped casually down onto his hard wooden chair in front of his desk, eyeing his roommate with a familiarity that Shinobu irrationally resented. “I’m going to be honest.”

Honest was a broad term, but he would not argue. “All right.”

Mitsuru paused a moment, still watching him, then let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. “I’m hesitant about all this.”

“That’s fine.”

Was he trying to be difficult? Mitsuru took another deep breath and folded his arms over his chest, grateful for the decrease of temperature the day had magnanimously granted them. “Shinobu… what do you want?”

Green eyes, startled, flickered to his. “What do I want?”

“Yes.”

He had not expected this. Slowly, Shinobu moved from his position standing in the middle of the floor and seated himself on the edge of his bed, gazing down at his feet. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does!” Control. He must hang onto control. He would not strangle his roommate. That would be bad.

“No. It really doesn’t matter.” His voice was not dead; it was just flat, like seltzer left out uncapped.

“The next time you say that you owe me 500 yen.”

Shinobu blinked, finally raising his eyes to his friend, and was met by a triumphant grin.

“So tell me what you want.”

The green-eyed boy opened his mouth, but then promptly shut it, unable to formulate something that would not cost him.

Mitsuru sighed. Shinobu was far too stubborn in this for his tastes. “Look… I want you to be happy. But I don’t want to jeopardize anything.” That would work. It even sounded rather smart.

Shinobu noticed with a slight pang how Mitsuru had left any feelings unsaid. Bland words, like oatmeal or rice, sort of lumpy, but having little taste. He felt empty. “Of course.”

Patience was not his strong suit, but he clutched at it fervently. “Shinobu, please…” He paused a moment, trying to find something to say that would explain himself and not hurt Shinobu, and yet not make him think the wrong thing. He took a deep breath and let it out, raising his eyes to his roommate. “I do care about you. You’re my best friend.”

Shinobu waited for the gentle rebuttal, the sweet refusal, like poisoned honey between rose petals, the denial of any potential they might have had.

“But I don’t want to take anything too fast,” Mitsuru was saying, but Shinobu hardly heard him. The faint scratches along the floor, idle windings of misplaced knots in the wood… it was fascinating. “I’m afraid that both of us might get hurt, and I don’t want that.”

Mitsuru kept talking, but Shinobu was busy drowning in the air. The air was eating him alive, like minuscule piranhas made out of oxygen, and surely he was bleeding all over the floor. Maybe it was blood he was drowning in and not air. After all, air couldn’t suffocate you so badly, so that you felt someone had their fingers in a sick embrace around your throat. He was sure he could feel each individual digit tightening slowly, cutting off the blood he had left in his body that wasn’t being eaten by the fish. Wasn’t it sharks that were drawn to blood though? Maybe both. It didn’t matter. Mitsuru had denied him as expected. He had failed him, and become only a source of shame now. There was a tightening on the inside of his throat now as well as the outside, icy and thick. Was this what despair felt like?

“So it’ll be all right, won’t it?” Light-fletched eyes gazed at him hopefully, but he didn’t meet them.

“Yes, it will be all right,” he replied, his voice strangely smooth and somber to his ears, but it apparently reassured Mitsuru, who swept him up in a quick hug. Shinobu blinked momentarily, but dismissed it. Friends. The warm body vanished from his as quickly as it had appeared, but the hole it left was somehow much bigger.

“Good, I was worried you’d take it poorly,” the blond boy said, his voice eased with relief.

There was a moment of stilled silence, the air stagnant. Shinobu felt cold. Was all his blood gone from his body already? Was his work done before it started?

“Shit!” Mitsuru’s exclamation came from nowhere and he started gathering a few belongings. He took Shinobu’s silence as an inquiry. “I have band practice. I nearly forgot!”

“During vacation?” Shinobu asked, and again he was amazed at the lack of… anything in his voice.

“Yeah.” The blond scooped up his music folder and flung open the door. “I’ll be back in two hours. I’m expecting you to take me to lunch.” With a cheery grin and a wave, the sun dimmed as Mitsuru shut the door.

Shinobu’s gaze raised for a moment to rest on the handle of the door. Well. He smiled faintly. It was time.

Band practice ran long. Mitsuru was annoyed. Just because the clarinets couldn’t keep their F sharps sharp and not flat shouldn’t mean that he had to stay later as well. Hissing a sigh of frustration between his teeth, he shoved his trombone indelicately into the case, replacing his slide oil and mute with even less care. He knew Shinobu had been upset. The other boy hadn’t even said a word. He had assumed that meant agreement, but he would ask now to make sure. Maybe he was paranoid, but it was better to look insecure with Shinobu than to be wrong and have the other boy angry at him. Angry roommates made for bad company.

But when it finally arrived at their room and opened it, it was remarkably stark. A creeping apprehension spidered through his heart. His belongings were exactly where they had left them, but Shinobu’s things were all exactly in place. His bed was made perfectly and evenly, and his books were stacked in height order on his desk.

No reason to worry, Mitsuru assured himself. Shinobu was always neat.

But why did it feel so different now?

There was an eerie stillness about the room, like the dust had stopped settling while he was out. Where was Shinobu?

Hunches were not to be disbelieved. The blond boy discarded his belongings in a sloppy heap on his desk, and, armed with only a shoddy sense of intuition, he ambled down the hall. He paused as he drew near the bathroom. Maybe Shinobu had just stepped out of the room for a moment. He pushed open the door slightly, glancing in. Blue tiles, white stalls…

He had nightmares for weeks afterwards, alone in his room, the night clinging to his window. He would awaken breathless and panting, visions of darkness and blood staining his eyes, even open. There was always death in the dream, and pointed fingers, and accusations, and tears, so many tears… and he always woke up crying.

The room was cold every day and every night, wrapping him in a blanket of loneliness. Vacation had long since ended and there was a nearly visible wall between him and the other students. No one knew exactly what had happened. No one asked. All they knew is that his roommate was gone and that he had dark circles under his eyes every morning.

It was actually Hasukawa who spent the most time with him, trying to coax him from his self-wrought shell. Shun, when he got the chance, bounced by to try to cheer his sempai up as well.

But the rest rebounded off his barrier and fell short.

It was almost two weeks before they allowed him to see him.

7. “Tezuka-san, you have a visitor,” called out the soft voice of the nurse as she ushered in the young man. He was clutching a bunch of flowers protectively in his hands, looking tired and worn. But he smiled when he stepped forward.

Shinobu was wary, but more than that, he was ashamed. Funny. He had never really realized how much of a failure he actually was. He couldn’t even kill himself right. Could he even look Mitsuru in the eyes now? Not that he was worthy, but that was a given. He had failed him in every sense of the word.

“Hi, Shinobu,” Mitsuru started off shyly, ever the traditionalist. He took a few hesitant steps forward and perched delicately on the seat beside Shinobu’s bed. “How are you?”

Simple words. Gentle, almost fearful. Shinobu forced himself to respond. “I’m well.” What an utter, pathetic lie. Could he sink any lower? How deep was the murk in his soul?

Mitsuru didn’t seem to mind. He held out the small bouquet. “I brought you flowers,” he said, stating the obvious. He was waiting for Shinobu to take them.

The other boy wanted to reach out, but he looked away. If he took the flowers, he would have to pull his arms from beneath the blankets. If he did that, Mitsuru would see the bandages.

He hadn’t been neat this time. There were no straight lines, just tear-stained agony fueling every helpless, desperate jab with the razor, and a calm decision to succumb to emptiness and nothingness and then blackness as there had been before. But the blackness had been different this time, and he was sure it had worked.

They told him afterward that if Mitsuru hadn’t found him when he did, he would have had no chance at all. His arms would be a mass of scars for the rest of his life, however ineffectively long that might be.

“If you could put them by the window,” Shinobu said quietly, keeping his tone plain. No use upsetting Mitsuru more than he was. The foolish boy probably blamed himself. But wouldn’t that make Shinobu more the fool for putting that onus on him?

Mitsuru nodded and stood, moving toward the window and setting them down. It was dark outside already. Was it that late? The blond boy turned to regard Shinobu, emotions mixing dryly in his eyes. “Shinobu…”

Would this be it then? Would the tears start now? “I’m sorry, Mitsuru.” Which was a lie. Maybe he would be sorry eventually, but not now. His only regret was Mitsuru’s probable guilty feelings over him.

Mitsuru did not reply, but moved back to the other side of the bed, reseating himself on the edge of the chair. He pulled it forward a bit, sliding closer to Shinobu, the scrape of the legs against the hard floor almost unbearably loud. But the blond boy reached out his hand and set it gently on the bed, touching Shinobu in effigy.

“Have you had a lot of visitors?” It was an innocent question. He was trying to break the ice wall with which Shinobu had carefully surrounded himself.

“No.”

Mitsuru was taken aback. “Oh… that’s right. Only family could visit until today, huh?” He would have been fiddling with his shirt nervously were both hands in his lap. “Did they?”

“No.”

The blond boy took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Normally it wasn’t hard to think straight. During the entrance exams he had had an almost notoriously cool air about him. But somehow Shinobu dislodged that and was even now doing that, despite his clear reticence to talk. But he would not be stopped so easily. “I’m sorry. I’m glad I came then.” He offered a gentle smile. “We missed you.”

It almost struck a blow. Green eyes glanced over to him, meeting Mitsuru’s eyes for the first time since his arrival, but he held his silence.

It was an opportunity of sorts, and Mitsuru pounced on it, not playing. “I missed you too, Shinobu.” His hand tightened slightly on the bed. “I thought I had lost you. I was terrified. I’ve never been so scared of anything in my life.” He choked slightly on his words and broke off. Vivid visions filled his mind of the tiles in the bathroom pooled with blood, blood running down the drains like thick water, blood everywhere… 

“Don’t-“ Shinobu started, but Mitsuru trampled over his words.

“I thought you were dead, thought you’d died rather than be around me anymore, thought that I’d failed you in some way I didn’t even understand.” His voice was getting thicker. Was that what pain did? “I thought that I’d let you down and that you wouldn’t ever be around to forgive me.” His words slowed and stopped, puddling between them limply.

Raw silence echoed through the room, Mitsuru’s words ringing in Shinobu’s shattered ears. What was there to say to that? How could he possibly apologize for this? Shame forced his head to turn away.

Mitsuru’s voice was soft when it finally freed itself. “I just want you to get better. You’re my best friend, and I-“

“No.”

Amethyst eyes flickered upward to him. “What?”

“I failed you.” His tone was flat, dull, an unsharpened, useless knife.

Mitsuru was clueless as to how to respond to that. “Shinobu?”

“I’m sorry.”

What insanity was this? Mitsuru stood, pulling the blanket off Shinobu closer hand, and seized it. The green-eyed boy instinctively tried to pull away, but Mitsuru held him fast. Letting him go once had been too many times. “Don’t be a fool.” His eyes were dark and serious, heedless of himself.

“Don’t…” Was that worry flecking the surface of those emerald eyes?

“Damn it, Shinobu!” He was angry now, but still had not let go of the other boy’s hand. The bandages were showing and Shinobu was feeling absurdly self-conscious about that. “Do you really want to die a meaningless death?”

“Isn’t every death meaningless?” The words were not, for once, emotionless; indeed, there was even a spark of anger in his eyes.

Mitsuru froze for a second, the words registering in his mind after a long moment as he stared in unabashed shock at his best friend. There was nothing to say to that. Nothing at all.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand and retreated to the other side of the room, the darker part that wasn’t blazing with fluorescent light, where a roommate would have been. The air-conditioned room cast a false aura about the place, a denial of the weather outside. He pushed aside the curtain, the city sky unusually subdued. He was a vague silhouette against a backdrop of shadow.

There was nothing to say.

“Mitsuru, I-“ Shinobu started hesitantly.

“Don’t.” His words were final, cold, a mirror to his roommate’s typical behavior. “Maybe you’re right.”

For some reason, this did not hearten Shinobu. He was even more sure now that Mitsuru was angry with him; he could see it. Another failure?

“Mitsuru, I’m sorry; I’ll keep doing this.” The words were heavy, dragging him down, forcing him to stay on the bed. “I’ll keep failing you like this, over and over, making you hurt… I’m sorry…” The emptiness he was feeling was threatening to engulf him in its deep bosom, an unkind lover. Didn’t Mitsuru understand that if Shinobu just left forever that it would be easier on his heart? That he had tried to do this to protect him?

“Maybe it really doesn’t matter, Shinobu,” Mitsuru continued, almost as if he had not heard the words his roommate had almost pleadingly uttered. “Maybe there’s no purpose to life, no reason to smile, to cry, anything.” Eyes dark with nearly-imprisoned emotion turned to him. “But I don’t think anything without meaning could hurt so much.”

There were tears in those eyes.

Whatever retort Shinobu could have considered making was lost when he saw that, and he had to look away. But footsteps told him Mitsuru was drawing near.

“I’m going to help you,” Mitsuru said fiercely, sitting back down in the hospital chair beside the bed again. He brushed a hand across his cheeks almost in annoyance. "I’m going to be here no matter what.”

Shinobu was quiet a long moment, trying to determine an answer – any answer – to this. Finally, he decided to be a traditionalist too. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly, and slowly turned to face his best friend.

Somehow, shame did not seem as important anymore.